Page 2 of Forbidden Desire

“I need to relieve myself, Maighstir.” I clenched at the deferent term, still unsure why it affected me the way it did. I should have felt nothing but disdain, but when I showed the respect he desired, I sensed the visceral pull to him growing.

“Not without me, nighean bheag.” He chuckled, the dark noise resonating at my core. “That is why I keep you bound.”

“I did not wish to disturb you.” My gaze fell, resisting the urge to turn and meet his knowing eyes, even though I sensed them burning into my back.

“You are my wife.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, even though I still didn’t believe it was true. Taking part in whatever crazy ritual had been performed might mean something to him, to his people, but it meant nothing to me. I was no one’s wife, and certainly not his.

“It is your job to disturb me.”

My lips curled at his quip, my resolve melting just enough to permit me a glimpse of the goliath. Glancing over my shoulder, I took in his vast expanse of chest and huge bulging biceps, followed by his honed abdominals, tapering down toward the organ that gave me such pleasure. Breath hitching, I compelled my gaze away. Slipping back down that rabbit hole would not help me.

“Come back down here.”

I shuddered, his low tone no doubt intended to affect me.

“I shall help you with the other matter shortly.”

“But Maighstir...”

“Des-ir-ee.”

That was all it took. Just one gravelly murmur of my name in that timbre that sent electricity whipping through my system, and I yielded, falling back to the covers at his side. I knew from days of experience what would happen to me when I pushed my luck and disobeyed him, and while I might relish the eroticism of some of the penances, there was no getting away from what was happening here—Rasmie was holding me prisoner and imposing whatever cruel or disturbing punishment he saw fit. I sought to avoid those penalties as much as I could. I had to find a way off this damn rock, not fall foul of his next warped whim.

“That is better.”

I heard the smile on his face, though I didn’t lift my chin to acknowledge it as his strong arms snaked around me, pulling me against his nudity. I wanted to fight him—should have fought him—but my will was already ceding as my craving for him intensified. Ever since he took me as his wife, Rasmie had held me in a near-perpetual state of provocation. He played with me whenever he chose, displaying me in front of his friends and others, and only permitting my climax when he allowed my pleasure. Like everything else in this place, his approach was maddening, but there was no denying it was also effective—I was always wet for him, my carnal passion willing to override all other concerns when his body came calling.

“How did you sleep, nighean bheag?” Tugging me flush against him, he spun my body, so my belly pushed flat against his perfect abs. Straddling his burly body, I tried to get a handle on my burgeoning yearning, but it was already too late. One of his hands slid to my backside, massaging my tender flesh as the other gently pinned me into him.

“Well, Maighstir.” It wasn’t a lie. I’d been so physically exhausted and mentally drained since he’d brought me to his village, I rarely had trouble falling asleep. It was the waking hours that haunted me. “Thank you.”

“That is pleasing.”

This time, I witnessed the huge grin that lit his face, his blue eyes shining as they met mine.

“I need you rested to bear my son.”

Not this again. Aside from wanting to bare and humiliate me at every conceivable opportunity, the only other thing Rasmie ever broached with me was the subject of pregnancy. It seemed he had lost his wife, Vaila, before I came to the island, and she had been carrying his unborn child. The pain of that bereavement appeared to drive him more than any other impetus. He was determined I replaced her and filled his primitive hut with hordes of children, which was why he’d been bedding me every chance he got and refused to entertain the concept of contraception. Not that they even seemed to have anything like that here—it was like something out of medieval times. Women were useful for few purposes other than sexual hedonism and childbirth. Her status among his people was only elevated by motherhood. It was a grim and depressing reality.

“You have not bled since I first took you?” Optimism resounded in his voice. “I am right, yes?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “But I just had a period before I came here.” I cringed, resentful at having to relay such personal information. “It isn’t time yet, Maighstir.”

“You shall find you do not bleed this full moon.” Beaming at me, his enormous palm squeezed my ass cheek possessively. “Nor any other full moon for some time. The gods have spoken to me, have promised to provide you with a baby from my seed.”

I swallowed at the certainty in his tone. I had never known faith like it before.

“Please don’t be angry with me if it doesn’t happen right away.” Christ, I wasn’t even sure I wanted children, let alone with a barbarian brute from a strange island, who’d seized me without regard for my view on the matter. “Often, it takes a while.”

He snorted as though amused by me. “We have yet to work on your faith, nighean bheag, but do not fear. There is time.”

“Maighstir.” I wasn’t sure if I should raise the subject with him again, but there might not be a better opportunity. Too often, his men surrounded him, and at other times, I was more concerned with my own abject degradation than the subject of parenthood. “May I say something?” It still irked me to have to ask, as if I needed his permission to speak, but until I could get off this island, Rasmie’s word really was my law.

“You may.” He sighed. “But speak quickly. My organ swells at your squirms and wishes to impale you once more.”

As if to prove the point, he thrust his hips forward, driving his cock past my labia and between my cheeks. I gasped as he edged my hips wider with his insistent hands.